How Do Detectives Make Love?

How Do Detectives Make Love?

Article excerpt

how did my parents make love/ was it in the 1950s way/ in their pyjamas under the blankets/ could my father switch off from his job as he switched the light off/ when he made love with my mother in the dark/ did they laugh/even though he told me he couldn't bare to fuck her unless he was drunk/ did he still pick up the bits & pieces of people from under trains/ or leftovers from motorbike accidents/ the bloodied thighs & thighless women & eyeless torsos/ did he fondle the falling away breasts of bloated corpses dragged from rivers with concrete boots?

was my mother's body the autopsy or the imitation pornography from his blue movie/ & was his penis the .38 automatic or the black baton that he used to strike out with/ was their martial bed like the cold river bottom churning with unfound death/ how do detectives make love/ did he talk code into her soft earlobe or whisper sweet double talk into her lips/ did he tape record her nocturnal sighs & her vulnerable words/ taking them down into his notepad heart to be withheld/ & used in a court of law as evidence against her/ did he keep her writhing loss of self under strict surveillance?

could he love her/ opening his blue shirt or plain clothes up to her/ dropping away his folded arms his handcuffs & identification badge/could he forget the prostitutes drug addicts screaming domestics battered wives shootouts & suicides/ the women in prison & the raped & bloodied murdered women/could he switch off from them/ like he switched the bedroom light off/ what did he feel in the dark/ with my mother's warm body beside him/ could he let himself be seen fully/ by her lovely half opened sexy eyes/ or by hard courthouse hearings & underworld gazes/ threatening to remember him expose & destroy him/ did he go undercover for fear of being found? …